I Love You
by CrimsonSnowflake
Summary: So long as he had his potions, Uncle Severus and his small moments of solitude he would survive. No matter how much his mother took out of him. Oneshot for Aimi-Chan!


**Title: **I Love You**  
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**Author: **CrimsonSnowflake**  
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**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling, all the copyrights associated with Harry Potter belongs to her. Only the ideas contained within this story is the property of the author. No profit is being made by the writer of this story.

**A/N:** I know, I know, it's very short, but I have to be honest here and say that I had a bit of trouble writing this one. No matter what I did I managed to somehow become stuck and It's been torturing me for a while now. But anyway, I hope you're satisfied Aimi-Chan. I tried my very best to take your wishes into consideration when writing this. And sorry for the wait, by the way!

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><p>A tangy smell stained the air, flowing into his nose. Large green eyes widened as the liquid before him changed colour, turning from a muddy brown to a clear white. A soft gasp of delight escaped his throat, followed by a round of laughter. Soft hands clapped rapidly in excitement, disturbing the peace that had previously occupied the small room.<p>

There was nothing, Harry mused as he beamed down at the now finished potion, more satisfying than seeing ones work completed before you. Absently, he pushed his glasses further up his nose, halting the decent that would have led to them falling off. They were a nuisance he would rather have been without, but his mother refused to buy him some contacts—he looked so much like his father with the glasses on, she said.

With a hasty glance at the clock he bottled the potion, carefully labelling it before hurriedly stacking it away. He made sure that everything was in its proper place, hidden and impossible to find for anyone curious enough to look, before silently stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him. A quick flick of his wrist and a quiet click and the door was locked.

He ran, springing down a set of stairs, through several hallways, all the while dodging various objects. His breath came in gasps, and still he pushed on. It wouldn't do for his mother to know what he had been up to. As with so many things in his life, she wouldn't approve.

A quiet sigh of relief escaped him as he pushed through the last door and saw that she had yet to return. Licking his lips he moved further into the living room, making his way to the piano located by the large window providing him with a beautiful view of the gardens. The sound of paper rubbing against paper filled the room as he searched through a mountain of music sheets. Lily had been adamant that Harry learn the piano. His father had known how to play, after all, and whatever his father had done, Harry would also have to do. Nothing less than perfection was expected of him.

"Your mother longs for the past, Harry," Uncle Severus had once told him, "she never truly got over the death of your father and sometimes she isn't aware of what she's doing."

Harry agreed and disagreed. His mother had never gotten over his father's death, but she was fully aware of what she was doing, fully aware that she was moulding her own son into the exact copy of her husband. And though Harry knew perfectly well what was being done to him he allowed it. If Harry acting like his father was what got his mother through life, then he would do so. The other alternative was too horrible to think of.

He could still see the image of his mother, skin pale; body slumped on the bathroom floor with blood trailing down her wrists. It was one of many episodes and Harry had quickly learned that the only cure—or at least the only thing to dampen—her madness was James Potter.

For years he had worked to perfect the act and now, at eleven years old, he was finally to be given his first reprieve—or, in a way, his first vacation.

"Harry, darling," she was standing in the doorway, a small smile lingering on her lips as she beckoned to him. "It's time to leave."

"Of course, Mother."

When he was finally seated on the Hogwarts express he allowed himself to relax, slumping into his seat, closing his eyes and smiling at the soothing movements of the train. Though he loved his mother with all his heart, he couldn't deny that it truly was a relief to finally be on his own and his entire body warmed at the prospect of finally being able to live as Harry, just Harry—if only for a year.

And that was fine, so long as he had his potions, Uncle Severus and his small moments of solitude he would survive. Even if the words his mother left him with at the train station stung and pricked his heart.

"I love you, James."


End file.
